


Am I the Poster Girl?

by mywholecry



Category: Disney RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywholecry/pseuds/mywholecry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor Swift is everything that the world wants Miley to grow into and looking directly at her is kind of like looking directly at the sun. She floats through the crowd like this ridiculous cloud of tasteful sequins and virginal innocence, and Miley crosses her legs and tugs her skirt down at the same time, frowning into her Sprite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Am I the Poster Girl?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/gifts).



> Written for bookshop in the Real Women Fest

Taylor Swift is everything that the world wants Miley to grow into and looking directly at her is kind of like looking directly at the sun. She floats through the crowd like this ridiculous cloud of tasteful sequins and virginal innocence, and Miley crosses her legs and tugs her skirt down at the same time, frowning into her Sprite. This is a nice party, a pre-packaged Disney event that would have made her nervous when she was still young enough to get nervous about anything. She's sitting alone on one of the sofas, and Liam didn't come with her, and, inexplicably, she wants to take everything out on Taylor and her stupid gorgeous family-friendly face.

She's not all that surprised when Taylor shifts around a few awkward dancers and makes to sit down next to Miley, an award-winning music video smile on. There'll be pictures leaked, and everyone will talk about how they're BFFs, bonding over their superstar angst and the Jonas Brothers they did or didn't fuck (and, for the record, Miley barely held hands with Nick, and she's yet to be convinced that he's actually a real person and not partly robotic. If rumors speak true, though, she can't say the same for Taylor and Joe.)

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Taylor says, knocking a knee against hers once she's settled in, their arms pressed together.

Miley tries to think of something clever to say, but she's never been that great at bantering when someone isn't telling her what to say. Instead, she rolls her eyes inwardly and turns to smile at Taylor. If anything, she's still a good actress; she doesn't care what anybody says. Nobody could possibly know anything she's actually feeling right now.

"I'm just tired," she says, and wants to add something bitchy and perfect to the person that she totally is now, something like: what with my hotass boyfriend and movie career and new album. What exactly have you been doing since Kanye interrupted you? That's Miley Cyrus, the one who puts on her own eyeliner and doesn't need her dad to tell her how to spend the money that she's made. People are looking at them, though, moving closer to maybe catch their conversation over the bad dance music. She'll be Hannah Montana for just a little bit longer.

Taylor nods, curls bouncing. "Mmm hmm," she says. "I would be, too, if I was Miley Cyrus."

Of course. Miley covers a sigh with a yawn, doesn't say anything in return. She's planning an escape route when Taylor rests long, long fingers on her bare knee, squeezing gently.

"Want to get out of here?" she asks, and boys have asked Miley that before, with deeper voices and probably less of an agenda, but Taylor is all wide eyes and little baby doll dress cut just below her collarbones. When Miley hesitates, she adds, "Please?" and all of those messy emotions that have been filling Miley up since she got out of her awkward phase are momentarily overridden by pure curiosity. That's how she finds herself with her arm hooked in Taylor's, being led out of the building and into the side alley. The air smells sharp and smoky, and she pulls away as soon as the door shuts behind them, drawing in a breath.

Taylor crosses arms over her chest, looking too bright for the gross brick walls, silver dress sparking up with moonlight. Miley's wearing black, and if she walks farther down, closer to the smell of dead cat, she'd probably disappear entirely.

"So," Taylor says. "I am going to get something to eat, and you and your sadface should join me."

Miley's pretty sure that Taylor doesn't actually eat, but her only alternatives are going back inside or going home and having to explain why she didn't stay. That's the only reason she's going.

*

She gets home at two in the morning, having found out that nobody really expects to see two starlets eating at IHOP, and that Taylor is really amused by smiley face pancakes. People took cellphone pictures, discreetly, but Miley hasn't felt so calm in a really, really long time. It's a little scary. The next morning, she calls Liam and talks for ten minutes, and then they run out of things to say.

The next time they hold hands in public, they barely make it through the paparazzi, and Miley feels her throat close up.

She ends up talking to Taylor more than she talks to him, staying up late at night to talk about music and fame and nothing at all.

*

Taylor keeps sending pictures to her phone, like it's not weird. Her favorite is a picture of Taylor holding a stuffed lion, baring her teeth, one hand curled into a claw. A few minutes after she got it, a text comes that says: cant b tamed, get it??? and she won't tell anybody why she can't stop smiling. She's home late from shooting a video, sitting on the kitchen island in her panties and a Metro Station t-shirt and eating leftovers, when she gets a new picture from Taylor. It's her front door, the numbers barely visible in the dark. Miley makes a face at it and goes back to her dinner when she gets a text: do i have 2 rng the bell & wake up billy ray.

Oh, Miley thinks, then she jolts up, knocking her fork to the floor.

"Oh," she says. She maybe almost runs to get to the door, standing on her toes to see the top of Taylor's head through the glass. When she opens it, Taylor smiles and comes inside without permission.

"That Miley girl," she says, "why does she have such an aversion to wearing pants?"

Miley looks down and is suddenly embarrassed like she hasn't been in awhile.

"No, hey, that was my American Citizen Concerned About The Welfare Of Their Child Stars impression," Taylor says. "I think it's cute. Especially the leotards."

"Well, in that case," Miley says, dryly, "I'll make sure to take my pants off around you more often."

Taylor kind of leers at her before walking around her living room, touching fingers to everything, cooing softly over old pictures. Miley shuffles her feet on the cold floor, watching her cautiously. She took her makeup off when she got home, and that's making her feel more naked than anything else. She wants to go to her room and hide under her blankets, and she wants to invite Taylor to hide with her, maybe.

"Aren't you going to offer me something to drink? What about that old-fashioned Southern hospitality?" Taylor's wearing leggings and a shirtdress, cowboy boots. She hooks her hand behind her bag, rocking a little, eyebrows raised.

"Mint julep?" Miley asks.

"Of course," Taylor says, "but I'll take water if you're out."

When Miley gets back from the kitchen with the glass, Taylor is sitting on her sofa, feet propped up on the coffee table. Her boots are abandoned in the middle of the room, and she's humming something that Miley can't recognize.

"Why are you here, exactly?" she asks, and Taylor looks wounded.

"Because I've been assaulting you with text messages expressing my eternal devotion," she replies, "and all I get back are lols. I thought we bonded."

"I thought so, too," Miley says.

"Then I've come for attention and a Hannah Montana marathon and possibly cuddles."

"I can give you one of those," Miley offers, but she sits close to Taylor, anyway, letting her slip an arm around her waist. They sit in silence for a long time, the glass of water sweating on the table by Taylor's feet. Everywhere they touch goes warm and funny feeling, and Taylor's breathing's a little raspy close to her ear, like she's been singing too much lately. Miley feels antsy and awful and, also, so good, and she knows exactly what she wants to do now. She remembers when she was younger and used to talk to Taylor at parties and thought she was nice but nothing she needed, because she was the biggest and the best, and she remembers the sudden twist of jealousy at the last party. She sits up on her knees just to hear Taylor make an interested noise, and they both almost lean in at the same time.

Up close, Taylor isn't perfect at all. Her eyeliner is smeared at the corners, and her features are just a little too thin, too angular. She opens her mouth so Miley can feel her breath on her cheek, and Miley swallows hard, pushing forward. Her lips slide against Taylor's jaw, and she wants to stop right then so she can still take it back. She doesn't, though, because Taylor laughs and runs her fingertips down the bridge of Miley's nose, touches them to her lips.

"I don't think Disney would approve of this," she says.

Miley doesn't care. She's too old for Disney; she's practically eighteen, and she wants to kiss Taylor more than she wants to be Hannah Montana or have millions of little girls idolize her. She sits up enough to get arms around Taylor's neck, and she says, "Disney doesn't matter," and presses her lips to the corner of Taylor's.

"What about your Australian manfriend?"

Miley hasn't been thinking about Liam at all, and she feels a sudden pain, deep inside her. This is the Miley that the tabloids thinks she is, the one who's spinning out of control. She wants to say that it's over with Liam, because it's been practically over with Liam since she said she loved him, but they had dinner the other night and spent an hour making out in his car, outside her house. They could hear cameras snapping in the distance, and Miley couldn't pay attention to him. Taylor takes her hand and laces their fingers together. Liam doesn't call her every day anymore. He doesn't even call her every week.

Taylor says, "This doesn't have to mean anything," like she doesn't mean it.

Miley says, "but it totally will," and hides her face in Taylor's shoulder. She can handle it in the morning, make a clean break and make sure everything thinks it's amicable and that she's just ready to get back to the life of the swingin' single. For now, though, Taylor kisses her forehead, and Miley feels so much like herself that it's almost too much. She's had all kinds of stupid teenage phases, and she's heard all the lines and all the wise advice from half the damn country. But she can tell the difference now. She's growing up, and she really thinks she's getting good at it.


End file.
